Sidelined
by Eboni
Summary: (A sequel to Walk It Off.) Though physically recovered from his brush with death, Pietro Maximoff cannot keep up with his powers. A hidden society of genetically altered people offers him a solution, but at a price his family refuses to let him pay.
1. I'm Okay

Author Note: Hi! So, this is the sequel to _Walk It Off_. It'll be told from multiple first person POV's like the first story, and I hope you guys like extra voices added to this story. Thank you to everyone who followed me from the first story to this one, and thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed _Walk It Off._ So… here we go! Hope you enjoy it!

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 _Sidelined_

by: Eboni

Summary: (A sequel to _Walk It Off._ ) Though physically recovered from his brush with death, Pietro Maximoff cannot keep up with his powers. A hidden society of genetically altered people offers him a solution, but at a price his family refuses to let him pay. (Main Characters: Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, Clint Barton.)

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Chapter 1: I'm okay

 _Pietro Maximoff_

The blackest hours are the ones right before waking.

Dreams are an eternity of black and white still-life portraits with no sound or smell. Beautiful because time is frozen, nothing ages or changes beyond recognition; the moment is forever captured. Horrible because life should never be still; it should explode with noise, scent and other sensations. The world should change and evolve.

And it does.

It just doesn't include me.

I stare at the frozen form of my sister as she sits in a café chair, fingers stretched toward a bowl-sized cup of coffee. Sharon Carter sits across from her, mouth open in a laugh that makes the corners of her eyes crinkle. They've been like this for hours, days, weeks. Sometimes I can't tell, because sometimes I forget it's a dream—because sometimes I'm not asleep when this happens.

My coffee cup is empty. It's been empty for hours, days, weeks. I drank it a long time ago, or maybe it was minutes ago. It feels like forever ago. When I touch the rim of the cup, it's neutral. I don't feel hot or cold in these dreams. I don't feel anything really.

I slide out of my chair and leave the café, stepping out onto the sidewalk where there are statue-like people holding cell phones and shopping bags. The cars in the street seem parked. Wanda and Sharon won't notice I'm gone. I've left thousands of times and been gone for hours—maybe days—and come back to find them in the same positions as before. I refill my own coffee and wait. Sometimes, I think I see Wanda's hand come a little closer to her drink.

I've given up talking to them. My words echo around the room, but affect nothing.

I don't matter, because I'm not really here, am I? Not since I died.

I walk down the street, whistling and staring up at the unchanging sky—forever noon, forever cloudy overcast. A gut-wrenching pain in my stomach brings me to my knees as my head swims. Colors bleed back into the world, sound crashes down on me. My arms and legs weigh more than Thor's hammer. My face hits the ground as I'm sucked back into the land of the living—again.

I jump out of bed, heart hammering, gasping. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I stare at the clock on the wall. The second hand ticks: one…two…three… Calm down. Slow down. You're okay—I'm okay. I bend over, clutching my knees, trying to breathe normally as my head pounds in time with my pulse.

One…two… three.

I'm okay.

I fall back on my ass and sit there, half-sprawled, staring at the clock. One…two…three. A normal minute passes, and then another. I concentrate on the deep blue color Wanda and I had painted the dorm room. I inhale the scent of laundry past its due date shoved in a far corner. I hear the rock music playing from the iHeart Radio station I always leave on.

Wetness on my upper lip. My hand shakes as I bring it up to wipe my mouth and stare at the blood on my fingers. Great, another nose bleed.

I stagger to my feet, grab a couple of Kleenex off the night stand and plug my nose. Then I shuffle to the tiny kitchenette area. I rustle though my mini-fridge for ice, milk, yogurt, and bags of diced carrots and peeled, sliced apples. Digging a banana out of the wooden fruit basket Wanda had put on top of the fridge, I rig up my Ninja. I eat the banana as I dump smoothie ingredients into the fancy blender and get it going.

Dammit. The Kleenex feels like a wet rag on my lip. I pull it away and grunt as blood drips onto my tank top—it had to be white. I suck at getting blood out of whites. I strip the shirt off and use it to plug my nose. I'll throw it away later and later on this week listen to Wanda complaining about me wasting all my money on new shirts— _don't you have enough?_

She thinks I've turned high maintenance because I like posing for pictures. I like posing for pictures because it gets me free milkshakes and fries from McDonalds. And maybe I like it when girls ask me for autographs too. It doesn't hurt and it's fun when Wanda gets annoyed. Her nickname for me is: Town Rake. She's convinced that I'm this big whore who'll sleep with anyone. So not true.

I haven't slept with anyone in two years. Not since my Alina. A pang of loss and hurt rattles deep in my chest and rolls down my spine before I can shake it off. I don't let myself dwell on that period of my life. It's over, done. I survived the enhanced experiments, she didn't. I want to forget it all. But the way her big gray eyes lit up when she looked at me haunts me still.

I pull the shirt away and give a careful sniff. No more blood. I throw the shirt at the trash can near the little sink. It lands on top of another shirt a few inches in front of the bin. I make my way over and snatch up both shirts, frowning at the massive blood stain on the one from last night.

I ran too hard in practice. The trainers had been ecstatic, I broke the sound barrier, but wanted to go faster, so I did—because I could. The world stopped, but I kept going. The trainers patted me on the back, raving about the glowing reports they were going to write. I smiled, then came back to my room, ate everything on the pantry shelf, and bled.

The blood's dried and crunchy now, the shirt ruined. I fist it, and close my eyes. I refuse to be afraid. I swallow back fear and the need to call for Wanda or Clint. They worry enough, and they can't help me. But they don't need to.

I'm okay.

I drop both shirts in the garbage and go back to the ninja for my smoothie. I drink straight from the blender glass as I root through the closet for my Avenger uniform. Black Kevlar with silver racing stripes. It makes me feel like a biker when I add the black sneaker-boots. I pull the uniform off its hanger and toss it on the bed.

It still smells new, but then again I've only worn it a few times in practice sessions. Today it goes out on the field, my first official mission as part of the team. My stomach cramps, but it doesn't stop me from finishing my smoothie. Excitement wipes out any doubts I have. I want to get out there to help people. All my life my sole duty was to protect my sister. That was my goal, nothing else. What she wanted was what I wanted, because she deserves that from me.

But now—now I want something else. It's a weird feeling, but this sensation starts in my chest and spreads to every fiber of my being when I think of my abilities, something that I can do and others can't, being the reason why someone else is happy, safe, alive. It feels like I have a purpose, a reason for my being here that has nothing to do with Wanda not wanting to be alone. And I need to feel it, because otherwise my being here is wrong. Otherwise, I really don't belong, and that black and white still-life is what's waiting for me… soon.

I run my hand under my nose again, checking for a bleed. Dry.

I'm okay.

Tugging on my uniform, I frown at the loose fit. It'd been snug days ago when I'd worn it last. My weight's in constant flux, but I haven't been underweight in weeks. I blend a smoothie with milk, chocolate syrup, yogurt, six scoops of protein powder and the last banana.

My cell phone buzzes on my desk, and I answer it before it goes to voicemail. "Yeah?"

"Yeah?" Wanda sounds annoyed. "This is how you greet your sister?"

"Mmm." I smack on smoothie.

"Are you dressed? I'll be at your door in five minutes."

"Mmm." She didn't have to call. She could have used telepathy, but she's on an independence kick. She's decided not to talk to me mind-to-mind or poke around in my head unless it's an emergency—like when she suspected I had a crush on Sharon.

And maybe I do. What's not to like—but it's nothing serious and it's no reason to barge into my head like a Mom doing a random drug-check. That's for Laura to do. I scowl at nothing, remembering how Laura had called later on that day, grilling me about Sharon and kindly telling me that Sharon was too old and if I wanted a girlfriend I needed to pick someone my age.

Wanda hangs up and I finish my smoothie and struggle into my sneaker-boots. It takes about two minutes to wash my face, brush my teeth and shave the stubble. I sigh at my hair. It's more silver than brown now. People think I'm older than Clint until they see my face. I pull it back into a low tail, grumbling at the curls that spring loose. It's too long again.

I pop out of the bathroom and open the door to my room before my sister knocks. We fall into step with each other down the tiled hallway.

"What's on your face?" she asks.

"Good morning," I say. "Did you sleep well?"

"We're past good morning." Wanda levels me with a side-long look. "What's that on your face?" She touches my upper lip.

"Smoothie." I lick at the spot. Salty. Blood? But I washed my—a flash of fear. Am I bleeding again? I wipe at my nose, and my hand comes back dry. I sigh in relief. Good.

Wanda glares at me. "You're ly—"

"Ah-ah, you promised," I chide her and walk faster so that she has to jog to keep up. She's biting her tongue. I can tell from the pinched look on her face. I smirk. She really did promise to leave me alone when I blow her off. It's my signal that I don't want to talk about something, and her new duty is not to push me.

We take the elevator up to the conference room Steve likes to hold meetings in. I rub my hands together in anticipation. I've never actually been in the meeting room, just heard about it from Wanda and the others. I don't expect it to be fancy or anything, but I want it to look official. The elevator lets us out and I follow Wanda as she leads the way.

"You've got bags under your eyes," Wanda says, sounding casual. "Did you sleep well?"

She wants to know if I had nightmares. Fair. I've had horrible nightmares sine I was ten. "Yes," I tell her.

She narrows her eyes and stops walking, folding her arms over her chest. "Dragă."

Uh-oh, it's her warning voice. "Wanda, I'm okay," I say. "I slept fine." I just woke up badly, but she never asks about that. And it's not my fault she chooses the wrong questions. "And, you know, I think that I'm old enough now for you to stop calling me 'sweetheart'. I don't call you 'darling'."

A nasty smile curves Wanda's lips. "Would you rather I use Laura's name for you, then?"

Oh God no. "Sweetheart is fine."

"Sure thing… Apple Dumpling." Her grin puts Maleficent to shame as she passes me by and touches her hand to a scanner beside a door. "This way."

The door slides open and she slips inside as I gape at her.

And people call me brat.

I step through the door. Steve sits at the end of a long silver table with edges rimmed in glowing blue stripes. Images and text boxes display on various screens built into the table's surface. Sam sits adjacent to Steve, Thor across from Sam, and Natasha next to Thor. She raises her head from the scrolling text on the table and cracks a lopsided grin at me.

"Look at this, Boy Twin finally gets his invite," she drawls. "You teach him table etiquette, Girl Twin?"

I swear she knows our names, but I also swear she's never used them.

"Good morning, you two," Steve says. He looks serious, not the fun Steve who gets frustrated when he can't do the right combo moves on the Wii Universe. "Have a seat."

I slide into the chair next to Sam and Wanda sits next to me. Thor nods good morning, and Sam nudges me with his elbow.

"Hey, we aren't shipping out for another hour and a half. If Steve doesn't talk forever, we need to go get some McGriddles after this."

I fist bump him. Sam respects my relationship with McDonald's.

The Vision arrives. How pretentious is that? The Vision. I watch his red robot ass sit down next to Wanda. They start making small talk. My hackles rise when Wanda giggles. My sister doesn't giggle. What the hell? I open my mouth to say something, but get interrupted by the door opening again. Clint comes in holding a large, white bakery box. I smell the donuts before he sets the box on the table and pops the lid.

"I love you, Old Man," I say, balancing six plain glazed donuts, three in each hand. I bite into the one straddling my left wrist. Mm… still hot.

"Hey, why'd you only get one kind?" Natasha complains, wrinkling her nose at the box. "Where's my bear claw?"

Clint rolls his eyes and produces a white bakery bag from the satchel over his shoulder. He drops it on the table and Natasha seizes it, pulling out her bear claw.

Sam, Wanda and Thor pick through the plain glazed, each getting one, but the rest are for me. I love plain glazed. I beam at Clint.

Steve clears his throat. "Should I let you all finish eating or should we get started?"

"I listen better on donuts," I say, mouth full.

Clint sits next to Natasha which puts him across from me. After he kicks me under the table and shoots me the 'behave' look he uses on his kids, he extracts a second bear claw from the bakery bag and starts munching on it.

Hmph. I polish off my first six donuts as Steve gives report. My attention shifts to Clint who's twirling a pen as he stares at Steve, expression intense. Damn, he must be really listening… or Steve's got something awful on his face. I lick crunchy sugar flakes from the corners of my mouth as I study Steve. He's clean cut and ridiculously young-looking for a World War II relic. He could advertize those get young quick creams they sell on late night infomercials. I bite back a chuckle. I should order one of those creams for Clint to see what he'll do. I pull out my phone, Googling the name of one of those youth code serums. I'll order an entire case to Clint's dorm and tie a pink bow around it.

/Pay attention, Pietro! This is important./ Wanda's words come with a mental slap. She considers inattention an emergency?

I grit my teeth and glare at her for a split second. _Bully!_

/Brat./

"I'm sorry, Wanda and Pietro." The sound of Steve saying my name snaps me to attention. I turn my head to find him staring at me and Wanda, eyes stern and serious. "Am I interrupting your conversation?"

"No," Wanda says, not quite pulling off innocence. "We're listening."

Steve narrows his eyes and I try to look innocent too. It's weird how Steve can be such a nice, easy-going guy out of costume, but when he puts on that blue suit, he turns hardcore.

I hear a few snickers from around the table and Steve shuts it down as he goes back to talking about the mission, the one I know nothing about. Damn. I do need to pay attention. I feel a scowl being directed at my forehead and sneer in Clint's direction. His dark look is only aimed at me, not Wanda, meaning he thinks _I'm_ the problem. I'm being profiled! Oh, see there. This totally justifies me buying him _two_ cases of youth code cream.

/Pietro…/ Wanda's words are ragged fingernails scratching my brain. /I have been working with this team for a month now, and I have never been reprimanded. This is your fault. And if it happens again, I will hurt you./

I gulp at the red energy crackling around the fist she makes in her lap.

So, yeah, okay. Steve's talking. Images swirl on the tabletop computer screens and… ha! Something's recording Steve's monologue and posting the transcript as he speaks. I lean forward, eyes scanning the text. Ugh. Of course it'd be in English. I speak English much better than I read it, I'm never sure if I get everything right.

I frown as I try to make sense of the transcript. The mission's in the Himalayas on Mt. Gangkhar Puensum. And it…?—damn, what does this word mean? Okay, skipping it. Skipping that one too. Seismic…?—wait, okay—recent earthquakes and avalanches. Unidentified subjects with paranormal abilities.

"And these enhanced beings have actually been witnessed using their magic?" Thor asks.

I sit up straight at the word "enhanced', and I don't miss the gazes thrown at Wanda and me.

"There were no other survivors from our group," Wanda says. "But who's to say there weren't other test groups?"

Groups that turned out a lot better than ours obviously. Bitterness keeps me from grabbing the last donut. It'd probably taste like dirt right now.

"Visuals are limited," Steve says, "but there were two groups that seemed to be fighting each other at one point. They're gone from sight now, but we all know nothing 'disappears'. We're going to break into two teams, one is Rescue, and the other is Recon. Thor, Clint and Pietro," Steve eyeballs me, "are Rescue. Your skills will best be served helping the disaster squads locate and evacuate trapped civilians to established shelters. We need speed, strength and a level head."

I frown and blink when Wanda takes my hand. She's frowning too.

"The Recon team will be me, Natasha, and Wanda on the ground. Sam and Vision, I'll need you both in the air."

"Excuse me, Steve," Wanda says, sounding confused. "Why are Pietro and I on different teams? This is his first mission. We should be together."  
"All the more reason why you shouldn't be," Steve says. "Wanda, you've worked without Pietro for a month, and you've done well. Now we need to see if Pietro can work alone. He can't do that with you holding his hand."

I would say something rude, but I'd have to let go of Wanda's hand first or I'll look ridiculous. Wanda clenches my fingers tight.

/I don't want you out there without me, sweetheart./

 _I know you don't._

She lets me feel her fear, it's like a python wrapped around her ribcage. How can she breathe? I squeeze her fingers back.

 _Clint will be with me._

Not that I need Clint to protect me. I saved him last time—but I also died doing it. The memories of the salty, thick taste of blood pooling in the back of my throat and the agony of burning holes in my chest make me shut my eyes. The world goes silent as my heart pounds, and when I open my eyes nothing moves but me.

Oh no. Not now. Not today.

Wanda's hand is warm and soft in mine, not neutral like in my nightmares. The donut sugar on my lips is sweet instead of tasteless. I'm still here.

I'm okay.

/Piiiiiii….eeeeee….troooo…..?/

Wanda's thought is slow, but I understand it. I blink rapidly as the people around me start moving again and words come back into play.

"This is a test for the both of you," Steve is saying.

/Pietro?/

 _Yeah, I'm here._

I'm okay—but I don't let go of her hand.

"Meeting adjourned. Meet back here at 0800 hours," Steve says, then looks to Natasha who's pointing at something on a table screen and talking.

Sam taps my arm. "Hey, that's forty minutes. We can be to McDonald's and back, man."

I watch his lips move at half speed, but I hear his words at normal speed. It's like a bad dub that's slowly correcting itself. I let go of Wanda's hand.

"You okay, man?" Sam asks.

I nod. "Yeah, yeah, let's—let's go." I need to move. Maybe I've been sitting still for too long.

/Pietro, you've still got something on your upper lip./

Huh? I touch my top lip, and pause at the wetness there. Shit. I cover my nose with one hand. "Be-right-back!"

"Pietro?" Clint's coming around the table, but I don't have time to wait for his slow ass. I dash out of the room, faster than necessary, but I need to get of here.

I push into a nearby single restroom and lock the door. Bracing myself on the sink, I stare at my pale reflection in the mirror. A thin trickle of blood drips from my nose. I unroll some toilet paper and wipe at my nose. It stops bleeding almost immediately and I clean up the mess.

What's wrong with me today?

My hands shake as I wash them. Maybe I need to say something. Maybe I shouldn't go on the mission—but hell. I've been waiting for this.

I don't know how long I stand there with my hands under the water. A knock at the door snaps me out of my trance.

"Pietro, you in there?" Clint.

"Yeah?" I sniff and check my upper lip. No new blood.

"Are you sick?" He sounds worried.

"No," I say, shutting off the water and slicking hair off my face with wet hands. I smirk at my reflection, admiring my uniform and how much I look the part of a hero. I'm going to be one today.

Nothing's going to stop me.

"I'm okay."

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Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	2. Boundaries

Author's Note: So, I'm going to try to stick with updating this story once a week. _Walk It Off_ was actually finished before I started posting it. This one is not, lol. So, I'm being tasked with making sure I have a new chapter ready each week. It's been a while since I've tried to do this with a fan fiction, especially while juggling original projects at the same time.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1. I hope you enjoy Chapter 2!

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Disclaimer: I keep forgetting that I need at least one. I don't own the Avengers or anything associated with them. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction ;).

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Chapter 2: Boundaries

 _Wanda Maximoff_

For a while, I thought there was nothing worse than Pietro's obsession with the show _Grey's Anatomy_ , until last week when he discovered _Once Upon A Time_. Damn Tony Stark for his iPads with their built-in unlimited Netflix subscriptions and wireless cards that never falter. Pietro brings that thing everywhere. He's currently sprawled out on a bench-seat in the quinjet's small lounge area, staring at his iPad and eating a granola bar.

I cringe at the opening theme to _Once Upon A Time_.

"Pietro, don't you think you should be reading up on the mission?" I ask, and then sit beside him on the bench, covering the iPad's screen with one hand. "I could read it to you." Because God knows he hadn't been paying attention to Steve at all, and he never mastered reading in English. English lessons in Hydra had come after Pietro's powers had emerged and he'd had no attention span for much of anything. It's a wonder that he's fluent in any language but our own.

He grunts at me and pushes my hand away. No matter. He'll turn off the show and start playing some video game in a minute. Maybe I'm being unfair to the shows. It's not them I'm annoyed with; it's how Pietro watches them. Thirty seconds here—change the show—thirty seconds there—turn it off, play a game.

"Dragă, please turn it off. I want to talk about the mission."

Pietro groans and, in a blur of motion, the iPad disappears. His blue eyes are clear and focused solely on me. I smile, glad to finally have his undivided attention today. It didn't used to be so hard, but ever since _that day_ , it's been a struggle.

"I want to keep an open mind-link with you," I say. "I know we agreed that we'd only do it for emergencies, but I won't be able to concentrate on what I'm doing if I can't feel that you're okay."

"And if you get hurt, because you're distracted by me?" Pietro asks, eyes darkening. "Anything can happen, soră. I don't think it's a good idea."

I hate that phrase: anything can happen. "Then maybe you shouldn't do anything to distract me. You should play safe."

"I won't do anything Clint won't," he says.

"I wish you'd stop making jokes."

"I'm not joking." He shrugs. "Will you play safe? What does that even mean? Run from trouble? We're here to stop the trouble."

"No, _you're_ here to get people out of the way."

"While _you_ fight?" His expression goes as dark as his eyes. "And when Steve calls in the Rescue team for backup, what should I do? Leave you and run? You know that's not going to happen." He sighs, and turns on the bench to fully face me. I mimic his pose.

He sighs. "Months ago, before Ultron, you wouldn't even be talking to me about this. You would trust me to take care of myself."

"No, I wouldn't!" I snap, and then bite my lip. Yes, I would have. In fact, I did. With Ultron, we'd separated a lot, but that last time—I cringe, guilt heavy in my chest. I'll never get over it. I'll never forgive myself, but… I promised I'd try.

And I'm trying.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

He shrugs and after a beat asks, "Would you really read the mission report to me?"

I chuckle. "Only if you follow along. We need to work on your reading skills."

Pietro rolls his eyes, but doesn't object. I pull my SHIELD issued PDA from my pocket and roll my thumbprint over it, then nudge him to do the same. Pietro grumbles and pulls out his PDA and gets it ready. I grin and touch my forehead to his. It kind of feels like it did when we used to do our homework together as children. I usually ended up helping him. I was always better academics, but we both did well in school until we had to stop.

I begin reading the mission report, pausing to let him repeat after me. He understands the words when they're spoken, he just can't spell them which means he can't read them either.

"Oh my God _, that's_ what that means?" Pietro laughs. "Really? The natives think the mountain is sacred so nobody climbs it, and now they think the crazy people on top are gods smiting them for being heathens? And they want the Recon team to go up with tribute?" He flops onto the floor, laughing, and it's my turn to roll my eyes.

The door to the lounge opens and Sam, Natasha and Clint come in.

"See, I told you we should have stayed in here. We missed the joke." Natasha nods at Pietro.

I kick my brother with the toe of my boot, embarrassed. I'm trying to show these people that we're adults, and he's rolling around on the floor. "He just read the mission report," I say.

"Let me guess, you got to the part about the tribute?" Sam asks.

"What are you going to bring them?" Pietro laughs at the bland look Sam shoots him.

Clint snorts. "That just tells us how welcome we're going to be. The locals don't like strangers, and especially don't like strangers invading their religious territory. There's no telling what all could be up there, since nobody's really climbed that thing to its peak and given report on it. It could be a Hydra base for all we know." His eyes glint when he says 'Hydra'. After learning about our past, Clint has a personal vendetta against Hydra.

Clint moves to Pietro's side and pops him upside the head. "Get off the floor, and act like you got some sense, brat. We need to talk about our game plan."

"Game plan?" Pietro straightens up and rubs his head, glaring at Clint. "Don't I just dig people out of the snow really fast?"

"Nat," Clint groans. "You _passed_ this guy from boot camp? What, did he bribe you with a couple of Big Macs?"

"Pumpkin pies too, the ones that only come out in November," Natasha says, not missing a beat. "Washed them down with a large eggnog shake. Even got me a Happy Meal toy."

Pietro salutes Natasha and she winks back.

Clint gives another load groan and ruffles Pietro's hair. "Hopeless." He takes Pietro's seat on the bench beside me.

Pietro sits up straight, and turns around to face Clint. Blowing silver curls out of his eyes, he asks, "What do you want to talk about, Old Man?"

Chairs from the small, round meal table scuff across the hard floor as Sam and Natasha join us. I smile. I don't know why, but I like this. Sam and Natasha are friends, Pietro and Clint are family. Just being in the same vicinity of so many people who care about me is a comfort I've never had before I joined this team.

"Your first mission, brat," Clint says, "and how you're gonna stick close to me and observe what I do when we deal with the evac and medical teams already there."

Pietro shrugs. "You can deal with the politics, Old Man. I just want to help the people."

I frown at the serious look on my brother's face. He'd never wanted to be a selfless hero, like Steve, until he'd stopped that gunman at a Walmart. Now, he wants to wear Thor's cape and carry Steve's shield. He gets the same look in his eyes that other people on the team have. They want to save the world, and so does my brother. It leaves me feeling left out, because I don't want to save the world. I just want to repent.

"…your problem is going to be staying fueled and hydrated," Clint's saying to Pietro. "The cold's gonna make your body burn more calories trying to stay warm."

"Since there's no predicting how long this is going to take," Natasha takes over for Clint, "and not all of us are super soldier or gods, we, "she gestures around our circle, "are going to carry a couple of IV bags in our pockets. The med team on the ground is going to insert the injection sites on us when we land. So, if things get hairy and we're out longer than we should be, we can plug into some nutrients and electrolytes."

"Why not just eat a Snickers?" Pietro asks.

Clint bops Pietro over the head again. "It won't last you as long—and you better not have Snickers in your belt."

I catch Sam and Natasha's eyes, smirking at the amused glints in them, then count: 3…2…

"Give up the belt," Clint says, stretching an expecting palm toward Pietro. "I swear to God, if there's candy in there…"

Pietro clutches the black utility belt around his waist. It's got multiple compartments for storage. Most SHIELD agents wear them to hold weapons and ammunition. Pietro's compartments are for energy bars, protein tablets and vitamins. He's even got a special hook for a canteen that I hope Clint checks for Dr. Pepper.

Sam, Natasha and I burst out laughing. Clint's so predictable—and paternal. And it's hilarious how people who don't know him would never guess that. All they see is gruff, sarcastic Clint, but his real team, the one he lets in, sees this Clint: a man who's a husband and father of three—a man who adopts stray dogs and people that need a family.

Clint gives Pietro 'the look'—the same one he gives his son Cooper when Cooper whines about brushing his teeth before bed. Pietro scowls and sighs dramatically, before unhooking his belt and passing it to Clint for inspection.

Clint continues to give Pietro the look, even as he takes the belt, and Pietro's eyes widen, incredulity building behind them. "Oh my God!" Pietro gets up and goes to the mini fridge in the tiny, open kitchenette compartment and brings back his canteen.

A smug smile crosses Clint's lips as he takes the canteen. Inside I root for Clint. He's what Pietro needs, since Pietro pulls away from me when I do things like this.

Sam and Natasha cackle. Sam patting Pietro on the back as Pietro props himself against Sam's chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Clint rifles through Pietro's belt as Pietro watches with a frown that could qualify as a pout—though, according to Pietro, he doesn't pout.

"Looks like Papa's got you in check," Sam says, then leans in, head almost touching Pietro's bicep and murmurs something that makes Pietro grin.

"If you give him Mountain Dew when we land, we're switching teams and you're dealing with him," Clint says, snapping the last compartment on Pietro's belt closed.

Sam blinks and Natasha laughs. "Clint's part bloodhound, hears and smells everything," she shares.

"Yup." Clint hands Pietro's belt and canteen back to him with a nod.

Pietro takes his items. "Thanks, Dad."—he sounds sarcastic, but he's not really. He likes when Clint pays attention to him. Clint does his usual long-suffering sigh, but he sort of likes when Pietro gives him a hard time. It's been their back and forth routine for a while now.

"Did you talk to Laura this morning?" I ask. "How did the baby do sleeping in his own room last night?"

Clint laughs. "You mean how did _Laura_ do sleeping in the baby's room last night? Nate was fine in the crib, so long as Laura stayed where he could see her. That kid's got good eyes for not even three months old yet. Gets them from me." He beams with pride.

Sadness washes over me for a moment. I miss being with Laura and the kids. It's been nearly a month since I've been to Clint's house. Training and missions keep me busy, plus I like to visit with Pietro, and his schedule doesn't allow for him to leave at all lately—not if he wants to be a permanent part of the team. He's still in his probationary period.

"I still can't get over you having a wife and babies." Sam shakes his head. "In the army I fought with guys who had families, and I couldn't understand that either. I know you can say you're fighting to keep them safe, but I don't think I could do it." Sam looks at Clint. "How long did it take for your wife to be okay with what you do?"

Clint shrugs. "She's still not okay with it, but she lets me do it anyway. It—it was touchy for a while. I dated her, then dropped the bomb. We broke up for a while, and then we just kind of gravitated back towards each other. She called one night out of the blue, and I got so excited I flew in to see her, and she just— _we_ just worked it out."

"He bribed her with sweet potato pie," Natasha says in a flat voice. "And beef ribs."

"Well, hell, who could resist that?" Sam asks. He looks at Clint. "Where'd you get the food from?"

"He made it." Pietro fumbles to get his belt back on. "Dammit, Old Man. Now I can't get this thing back on."

"Here." I get up to help, taking the links of the belt from his hands and frowning at how tightly I have to pull the belt. I study Pietro's slim build. /Have you lost weight, sweetheart?/

 _Who wouldn't with all the training and PT I do?_ His mental tone is grouchy as always when I ask things like that.

I latch his belt and pinch his neck hard.

He whirls on me, expression wounded. "Ow!"

/Don't snap at me!/ I glare at him and he glares back. I hate that he's taller than me and that I have to lift my chin to keep his eyes.

"Hey, cut that out you two." Clint.

"Your kids are ignoring you, Papa," Natasha purrs. "Whatcha gonna do?"

 _I'm okay, Wanda. Leave me alone. You said—_

/I just asked a simple question! Why can't you answer it without an attitude?/

The quinjet rocks and my ears pop. We're descending.

Steve's voice crackles overhead: "Hey Team, clean up in the lounge and come back to the passenger compartment to buckle-down. We're landing in 10."

Clean up in the lounge means put loose items away. The only loose item is Pietro's head. I push him as I storm toward the door for the passenger compartment. Stupid brother. I hear the grumble of Clint's voice and the ring of Natasha's laughter.

The passenger compartment has seats lining either wall equipped with seatbelts and safety harnesses for rough landings. I throw myself down in a seat closest to the closed cockpit door and strap myself in. If Pietro wants to be an asshole, fine. See if I care.

The compartment door opens again and Clint, Sam, Natasha and Pietro troop in. Sam sits next to me, followed by Natasha, then Clint and Pietro, Pietro looking anywhere but at me. I seethe, feeling power crackling in the air around me.

"Yowtch!" Sam yelps and I shoot him a sheepish grin.

"Oops. I'm sorry." Taking a deep breath, I hum the melody to an Evanescence song in my head. Music calms me, helps me focus. I reign in my roaming energy, and smile at how quickly I'd done it. I'm getting better at pulling it back in.

I just wish it'd stop leaking out whenever I'm angry. It's been happening more often lately, as my power grows—I think. If I hadn't been going on missions with the Team, I'd probably spend more time in the research department than Pietro. Everyone wants to know what I can do. I can read and manipulate thoughts. I blast energy from my hands… I bring people back to life. It doesn't make sense.

"Why do I always end up sitting next to Sparky?" Sam asks, then nudges my elbow with his. His mind purrs with good humor. Sam likes to joke.

"I don't like that nickname," I say, folding my arms over my chest.

"Well, then you need to come up with a codename," Clint grouses. He sits across from me, next to Natasha, which means Pietro must be on the other side of Sam.

I groan. Codenames. I didn't think it would be so hard. Everyone else has a codename that means something to them.

"I like Sparky," Pietro grumbles.

"Shut up!"

"Hey!" Clint glares at me. "This is not gonna work if you two are gonna act like toddlers."

 _I'm sorry._

Yes, he's always sorry, and he always means it. But I'm tired of him being just plain rude and expecting me to excuse it. /We'll talk after the mission./

A mental sigh from him. _Fine._

"Hmm. Codenames. We should make it homework, make it due at the end of this mission," Sam says. "We're not leaving the Himalayas without cool codenames for the Maximoffs."

"I don't see what's wrong with Girl Twin, Boy Twin. Everyone knows who I'm talking about," Natasha says. "Can I turn in my homework now?"

"You'll get an F," Sam says.

"I'll take it."

I watch Sam and Natasha's back and forth, wishing their distraction was working on Clint. But no, I feel his eyes on me for the duration of the landing, but he's not going to say anything until we're alone.

The quinjet touches ground and Steve announces that we can un-strap and move around freely. The door to the cockpit opens and Thor burst in, laughing like a man who's won a large bounty.

"Here's to hoping we see battle with worthy opponents as a special tribute to your first mission, Pietro Maximoff!" His booming voice echoes off the walls as he strides to Pietro, who's standing but giving Thor dubious looks. The god thumps Pietro on the back so hard Pietro nearly falls forward with an "oof!"

"Ah… yeah… thanks," Pietro wheezes.

Thor gives a hearty laugh and beams at us all. "Come friends! I believe there are medical men that have been awaiting your arrival. We shall prepare your mortal bodies for battle!"

I'm not one of those women who swoon when handsome men enter the room, but for a god, I can make an exception. The hatch to the quinjet opens and lets in a blast of frosty air. Thor jumps right out into it, and shouts greetings to whoever is out there to meet us.

Well. I blink and clear my throat, undoing my harness and getting to my feet.

Steve comes out of the cockpit followed by the Vision. Steve looks to the open hatch and then us. "So… how was the ride?" He barely conceals a grin.

"It was okay," Natasha says evenly. "Couldn't tell it was only your third time flying one of these things. You wanna prize or something?"

Steve looks a little hurt. Natasha snorts and gives him a punch in the shoulder as she exits the jet. "Boy Twin'll treat you to a pumpkin pie and get you a Happy Meal toy. Make sure he gets Elsa, kid."

Steve's eyes brighten and his smile returns. "I get that reference! _Frozen_ , right!"

Sam chuckles and pats Steve's shoulder as he leaves the jet too.

"Hey Steve, Vision, can we get a minute?" Clint asks. He's unharnessed and gesturing between me and Pietro.

Steve raises his brow. "Oh. Sure. I'll give you guys five. There's a tent about 30 paces away from here. That's where we're headed and where I'm going to do the final briefing. See you guys there."

Steve hops out of the jet, the Vision hovering after him, leaving me with Clint and my brother.

Pietro flops into a seat, rolling his eyes up at Clint. "Is it speech time, Old Man?"

Clint levels Pietro with a long-suffering stare. "This is for real. Not a game, not a time for you guys to be picking at each other and distracted. So, put it aside, guys."

Pietro and I shrug simultaneously. "We did."

Clint makes a face and shakes his head. "I told you two to stop doing that. It's weird."

"Clint, I know how to be professional," I say, which is more than I can say for my brother. "This will not affect me."

"Me either," Pietro says.

Clint looks between us with a frown so deep it emphasizes lines between his brows. "You sure?"

Pietro and I nod.

"OK." He looks unsure. He runs a hand through his spiky hair, his gaze going to Pietro. "And you're sure you're feeling okay?"

"I'm good, Dad." Pietro gives a mock salute and springs to his feet. "Though I'd be better if I had a Snickers." He's to the hatch before I can blink—"See ya at the tent!"—and gone.

Clint groans then looks at me. "Wanda?"

"It's fine. We just—we're still working on boundaries," I say. "I keep pushing them, I guess."

Clint squeezes my shoulder. "I think it's good to push the boundaries. He should talk more to you and less to those research guys. You'd think he'd had enough of that."

I look down at my hands, a crackle of energy sparks between them as nervousness rises within me. "Maybe, but it's good for him to learn more about his powers."

"You still worried about yours?"

"I just—I wish I knew what I'm turning into. Pietro seems to be the only one getting all the answers. But you all keep putting me out here with you. So, you must trust me." I smile at Clint and he tilts his head.

"Your powers are getting stronger. I mean, that levitating yourself act of yours is pretty good. You keep practicing that stuff you do, and you'll stay in control of it. You're doing a great job dealing with things as they come, and you know we're all here to help."

I nod. "Thank you."

"Nothing doing," Clint says. "Come on. We got a job to do—and I gotta make sure Sam isn't slipping your brother caffeine. There's no way in hell I'm dealing with that kid on Mountain Dew." He drapes an arm over my shoulders and we leave the jet together to join the group.

* * *

(~*~)

The tent is small and seems crowded with the full team plus two paramedics inside. I barely flinch as the male paramedic snaps in an IV port. I take an IV bag full of nutrients and tuck it into one of compartments of my utility belt. I'm the last to have my port installed. I thank the paramedic and make my way over to where the group is sitting. Pietro sits next to Sam, laughing about something. I stand, frowning for a split second, before sitting next to Pietro. The chair is hard and cold. Our suits are all insulated, but I have a feeling I might really feel the cold after a while.

I pull a wool cap out of my pocket and pull it over my head and ears. Much better. Pietro looks over at me, and reaches over to take one of my hands. We've both got on leather gloves, so I can't feel the texture of his skin, but I feel the strength of his grip.

"My team—keep it simple guys. We're doing surveillance, only engage in retaliation," Steve's saying. He stands in front of our group, his shield propped on a chair beside him. Another man in a black military uniform stands next to him. "This is Captain Long. He will be working with Team Rescue…"

 _Be careful up there, Wanda._

/You be careful too./

"All right. Any questions?" Steve claps his hands. "All right. Keep your radios on. Stay alert, and let's get to work."

Thor, Natasha, Sam and Clint stand immediately. Pietro and I stay sitting for a moment longer, he squeezes my hand, then stands, pulling me up with him.

I hug my brother tight. /Don't do anything stupid. Don't…/ Fear makes me close my eyes and I see bullet wounds in his chest.

 _I won't._

But he can't promise that, not for real. I feel him kiss the top of my head, and when I pull back, I kiss his cheek, then let go. If I didn't let go then, I wouldn't have ever.

Swallowing, I say, "See you in a few hours?"

He smiles at me. "Nothing takes hours for me."

 _I'm really sorry, sister_.

/I know./

 _We'll talk later._

He turns and heads for Clint, Thor, and Captain Long, waving at me over his shoulder. Clint grabs Pietro by the neck with one hand and Pietro yelps. I chuckle under my breath, a bit of relief seeping into my system. I trust Clint to look after my brother.

"Wanda?" Steve calls. He stands with Natasha, Sam and the Vision, giving me an expectant look.

I take a deep breath and head towards my team.

Be well Pietro. /Good luck on your first mission, brother./

* * *

Author's Note: What's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Any way you liked it, let me know. Please review!


	3. Inhuman

***Author's Note: I'm so sorry about the long wait for this chapter. Part of the blame is that I didn't have this story finished before I posted it; the rest of the blame goes to this: I signed a publishing deal! My first YA Science Fiction Fantasy novel, The Fourth Piece, comes out this Fall. Check out my Author Profile for more information. You can visit my twitter: E_Ardell (at E_Ardell), my website: dot com, my tumblr, goodreads (Type in: The Fourth Piece or E. Ardell), or just find my links on my profile page. I'm so very excited. I also hope you guys are still hanging with me for the rest of this story. Thank you for all of the reviews and support! It made me get on finishing this chapter! Hope you like it!***

* * *

Chapter 3: Inhuman

 _Pietro Maximoff_

The hardest bodies to find are the kids.

I don't know why I thought I'd be saving people today. I should have known there was no way we'd be bringing anyone down from this mountain alive. We're recovering the dead. It's noble, I guess. Loved ones can find peace knowing you're not out there somewhere and maybe they could be helping you. It's closure.

I sit on the back of Clint's snow mobile, hands on my knees, swallowing hard and trying not to think of the little girl with blue-white skin who'd probably suffocated before she'd frozen. Her family is just as dead as she is, so closure for them doesn't matter.

I shut my eyes, heart thudding in my chest, as I hear the phantom shriek of the rocket, the sound of the world crashing down around my ears, and screaming as my parents fall. Their bodies had been mangled beyond recognition. I couldn't tell Mama from the woman who'd lived down the hall.

I roll down my ski mask and scrub my cheeks with icy gloves as flashes of Alina's sweet, blue-white face appear with so many others—all later covered by white sheets. Like snow.

I swallow again. My heart pumps so fast my ribcage vibrates. My vision blurs and doubles. I fumble through my utility belt and pull out a protein bar. I'm almost out of food. I'd burned through it quicker than I'd thought, and I'd kill for the Snickers Clint was going on about. Fortunately, the mission's almost over. The search area perimeters that the earlier rescue squads hadn't gotten to are mapped out for us. With Thor flying ahead to survey the land and check for stability, me running out to start the excavation process and then Clint following on the snow mobile, we knocked out the map in hours instead of days. Captain Long and the regular rescue squads join us to pack up what we've found—the corpses—and murmur things as they look at us with round eyes.

I don't speak the language, don't know what they're saying, but a couple of people have offered me drinks and food and bowed afterwards. It could be a cultural act of politeness. I've seen movies where certain cultures bow all the time but, for some reason, I don't think they're just being polite. It's weird. McDonald's and posing for pictures is one thing, but these people? Thor shrugs it off, all smiles and laughter. Clint—well, no one bows for Clint.

And it kind of pisses me off. Clint's probably doing more work than Thor and me, but he's not doing it using super-powered skills. Guess that makes him boring. But I don't think he's boring. I can't help but marvel at how he keeps his voice so calm and how his hands don't shake when he pulls sheets over bodies. He even takes the time to pat my back or squeeze my shoulders, because he doesn't have to say anything for me to know that he gets it.

"Hey."

I jump off the seat of the snow mobile and spin around to see Clint, his head slightly cocked to one side as he stares at me. He holds an extra protein bar out to me.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Yeah-yeah-you-just-surprised-me." I bite my tongue. That sounded fast even to me. I take a deep breath, willing my heart to stop buzzing. "You surprised me."

"You're jumpy," Clint says.

I take the bar from him and tear into it as my stomach growls. I need real food. These snacks are teasing me. "One more section, right?"

Clint nods. "Thor should be back any minute."

"Right-yeah-sure." I plop back down on the snow mobile and sip water from my canteen. It's freezing and hits my stomach like blocks of ice. "I'm ready to go." Home. I watch my breath come out in small white puffs of vapor. Wonder if I can make shapes like Gandalf in _The_ _Lord of the Rings_. God, that was a long movie. It had taken a week to watch, because I had to keep turning it off to do other things.

"I'm sorry this had to be your first mission," Clint says, sitting down next to me. "I know you had your heart set on saving people today. I should have warned you before we got out here, but I just thought—"

"That I'd be smart enough to figure it out?" I shrug. "I figured it out as soon as we got to the first site. I should have known right away, but…" I shrug again.

"I've been on more terrible missions than I can keep track of," Clint says. "Some of them really do end up just being clean-up. We weren't called in, in time, and it's not our fault. Like here…" Clint gestures around. "The local government didn't want us in their territory. I still think they don't want us here. But if they'd been more open-minded when it happened, we could have been here last night, and maybe we could have saved someone."

I nod. I know he's trying to make me feel better, but I don't. My stomach growls again, and a dull, gnawing pain starts deep in my gut. I dig around for another bar, and Clint shoves one under my nose.

"You're really going through these things, brat. Maybe you need to head back to where there're more supplies."

I can't see Clint's facial expression through his ski mask, but I bet he's frowning at me. He frowns at me a lot. He says it's because I'm annoying, but he worries. Like Wanda, I don't think he'll ever really get over Sokovia. It's horrible, but I can't force myself to feel that awful about him not being able to get over it. His guilt and gratitude made him take Wanda and me under his wing and give us a second home. If it hadn't happened, if he'd somehow been in a different place and I hadn't needed to help out, where would we be? I think Wanda and I would still be Avengers, but not in this way.

I don't know that the whole team would have been so ready to adopt us. We'd been the bad guys. We had made it possible for Ultron to come into being. And then I died for Clint. Nobody could turn us out or leave us to sink or swim after that. And I'm glad.

 _Thwump. Thwump. Thwump_. I look up at the sound of Thor's hammer slicing through the air. He hovers then lands a few feet away, his boots heavy in the snow and his face set in a scowl. He marches toward us.

"The way is clear and the ground is safe to tread upon, though I sense that more innocents will be buried beneath it." He shakes his head. "Why were we not called sooner? There is no honor in this."

Clint sighs. "I just went over this with the kid. The people here don't like outsiders on their sacred mountain. Their own people haven't climbed this thing to its peak."

"Or so they say," I muse. "I kind of thought somebody was taking tribute up the mountain for their gods."

"Nothing in the report said that. They just thought we should do it now that the gods are angry and rained snow on them and all that voodoo stuff." Clint waves a hand.

"I see no gods, or evidence of any gods ever having been here." Thor sounds downright grumpy. I would offer him a Snickers if I had one.

"Well, cheer up Big Guy. We've got one more area to search and then we're out of here to wait for the rest of the team," Clint says, clapping his gloves together.

"Yes." Thor nods, then a big grin lights his face. "And then we shall make up for this horrible first mission by taking Pietro out drinking! I shall buy you some of the finest ale and share with you the—"

"He's not legal drinking age," Clint interrupts and Thor and I stare at him.

"What does that mean? Legal drinking age?" Thor says the words like they're in an unknown language.

I bite back a laugh and roll my eyes over to Clint who's got that long-suffering look on his face.

"It means," I say, with a wicked smile, "that America has set an age barrier on drinking. I must be 21 to lawfully do so."

"Then we shall not drink in America!" Thor booms, laughing again, his good humor returned.

"He shall not drink anywhere," Clint grouses, half-glaring at Thor. "I'm not dealing with a drunk speed demon."

"Oh come on, Clint. I don't stay drunk for long," I tease, and it's true. My metabolism burns off liquor and other drugs quickly.

Clint turns his glare on me. "No."

"I will take care of him, Clint," Thor says. "Do you not trust me to look after a teammate?" Thor throws a massive arm around me, the man-hug almost bone crushing.

I gasp and wheeze. "Y-yeah. Don't you trust him?" I huff.

"When we get down, we'll call Laura and ask her what she thinks about this," Clint says, and all the fun slurps right out of the equation.

Way to go, Clint.

Thor gives Clint an almost heartbroken look. "Clint Barton, when did you become so—"

"Old?" I offer.

"Hm." Thor nods his approval.

"Thor," Clint says, voice calm and level. "My wife decided to adopt two teenagers. That makes them my responsibility when she's not around. If one were to get drunk and make the news, she would punish me."

"And you are afraid of your wife?" Thor asks.

"Yes!"

I chuckle, but choke it back in as Clint stares me down.

"Don't act like you're not scared of her too," Clint challenges.

I roll my ski mask back up over my mouth and nose. "I'm her Apple Dumpling. I can do no wrong. It'll always be your fault, Dad."

Clint growls like a bear and I duck the snowball he lobs at my head.

I love pissing Clint off. It's so funny.

Thor laughs too, and I have a harder time dodging the monster-sized snowball he hurls at me. I almost trip over my snow boots. Clumsy, heavy things. They make running harder. I right myself and come back to Thor and Clint.

"All right, so let's finish this job," Clint says. "You ready, brat?"

I nod on the outside, but inside: No, I'm not ready to find more bodies.

"Okay. I'm right behind you," Clint says, straddling the seat of the snow mobile and gripping the handle bars.

I prepare myself to run, staring at the white terrain and willing the world to move faster. My body revs up like an engine about to fire. My heart thrums, my breathing picks up, and then everything levels out into a steady rhythm. I jog at first, looking over my shoulder to see Clint frozen in time. I look up to see Thor mid-leap, stuck in the sky. It's like a photograph.

Across the snow I glide, digging a trail as I move. It's the only evidence left behind for Clint and Thor to know that I'm still here, because I'm sure neither one of them can see me now. The ski mask does little to keep the cold wind from tearing at my face. Maybe I need a helmet. I don't know, but I can deal with it. The run won't take long.

I visualize the map I'd been shown, winding around corners and leaping over fallen branches, heading to the last area… and stop. Standing still, the world catches up to me. My breathing is loud, almost louder than the soft sounds of human panting. I hold my breath to be sure the extra noise isn't coming from me.

No, not me. Someone else gasps nearby, breath hitching every few seconds, maybe about to cry.

Thor said he hadn't seen anybody out this way.

A thrill of excitement ripples through me. A survivor. God, how I want to save someone. The need to do it almost hurts. I don't dare speed up. I don't want to blow by the person, and I don't want to scare them by seeming to appear out of nowhere. Should I call out?

"Hello?" I chance. "Are you hurt?"

The panting quiets, muffling like someone pressing a hand over their mouth.

"I'm here to help!" And whoever it is probably doesn't speak English. In my head, I practice the phrase the rescue squad had taught us and try it out. The words sound stupid to me. I know I'm not pronouncing them correctly. And whoever it is out there doesn't respond.

Okay. I trek forward, listening for sounds of life. The muffled panting turns to soft sobbing. Over the years, I've become an expert in analyzing different kinds of crying. Crying from pain is sharp, staccato; crying from sadness can be low and quiet. Crying from fear…. That's a noise I'm very well acquainted with.

Whoever's crying is afraid, and young, maybe a woman or a girl. I don't call out again, keeping my steps light as I round a corner. A slight figure dressed in white huddles in the snow, backside to a mountain wall. The hands and feet are bare and small; the hair is long and strawberry gold. The head raises and the beautiful, heart-shaped face of a teenage girl—doubt she's older than me—stares back.

I hold up both hands to show I'm unarmed. "Hello," I say, not coming closer.

She continues to stare, then gets to her feet.

Good God. She's wearing a dress that looks like it's made of cotton. No shoes, no hat, no gloves, no sleeves. How in the hell had she gotten out here like this, and why isn't she freezing to death?

"I…" I take a step closer and she presses herself against the snowy wall like she thinks I'm going to hurt her. "I can give you my jacket. Are you cold?" Of course she's cold! I struggle to unbutton my coat. The thick gloves make my fingers stupid. Once I get the coat off, I toss it on the ground toward her and step back, hands up again.

The girl looks from me to the coat in the snow. I shiver a little. I've got on a thermal sweater and long-johns, but I really miss my coat. I roll the ski mask down until it bunches around my neck and offer her a friendly smile. At least I hope it's friendly. My face is still a little numb from the cold run earlier. Maybe my lips aren't moving right yet.

After a minute, the girl inches toward my coat. I step back again, giving her space. She pokes at it a few times before wrapping it around herself. She sniffs the fabric and then looks at me. I don't move. It's like getting an animal to trust you. Let them come to you.

One step. Two steps. Soon, she's in front of me. Her small, fine-boned hand reaches out and she rubs her knuckles against my cheek. Her hand is warm. I blink, staring into her face. Her skin is flushed with dewy color and her green eyes are vibrant.

She's not cold.

She shrugs my coat off her body and drapes it over my shoulders in front. Then she smiles, her face bright, despite the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"I… uh… thanks." I put my coat back on and struggle to button it as she watches. "Where did you come from?" Who are you? Or maybe the question should be 'what are you', because no normal woman could be walking around barefoot on a snow covered mountain after an avalanche in a summer dress. Maybe the natives aren't so crazy for thinking there are gods on the mountaintops after all.

She touches my chest, shadows darkening her eyes. She looks behind her and pushes me backward.

"Is… something after you?" I look behind her too. Nothing.

"I can take you with me," I say. "Here. Let me…" I can't carry her and move fast. The wind would kill her in that outfit. But I guess I could cover her up. "Ah… I'm going to call my friends, okay?"

She watches me for a moment, then her expression changes from curious to terrified. She grabs my shoulders just as the snow beneath us starts quaking. Wind roars in my ears and a white tornado of snow plumes and whirls around us, thick and blinding. I shut my eyes and grip her shoulders. I need to get us….

The ground quakes again and I stumble, falling and bringing her down with me.

A man's voice shouts something. I don't know if I just can't understand his language or if the howling, freight train cacophony of the wind distorts his words.

I crawl over the girl, trying to shield her with my body. What now? Can I get it together enough to run? Can I even get up? The wind presses down on me like a ten ton weight. The girl tugs on my arms, her eyes wild. Her lips move and I shake my head. I can't hear.

Soft, warm lips touch my ear. "The Seeker." Her voice is high and pretty, her English clear and without accent—like Natasha's, trained to be generic and unremarkable. "We have to get away."

The wind pressing me down eases up and the girl gets to her feet, pulling me up. Wait a minute. Who's saving who here? She raises one hand and the snow torrent parts, whipping her hair around her face and mine. I squeeze my eyes shut, the brightness hurts, and let Mystery Girl tow me forward as I get my bearings.

The ground ripples and the heavy snow falls around my ears, knocking me over again. The girl falls on top of me and rolls off, gasping. I rub snow off my goggles and stare at the massive form of a man in a red and black snowsuit. His eyes are the kind of black that reflect light, giving them a madman's gleam.

"Are we through playing?" the man rumbles. He holds out a black gloved hand to the girl, completely ignoring me.

"What have you done to the others?" the girl demands.

Red Snowsuit grins almost pleasantly. "Why don't you come with me and find out?"

Snow swirls around the girl's feet as she raises her arms and glares at the man. "I'll bury you again."

"The only thing you succeeded in that last time was trapping your dear sister under multiple kilometers of snow. But don't worry. I was able to rescue her before she suffocated." The man's words don't sound comforting.

I don't know if I should move closer to the girl, not with that snowstorm she's brewing. I shake my head—she's enhanced, and this guy probably is too. My communicator crackles in my ear and I jump. I'd forgotten about it. I can't believe it's getting a signal in all this.

"Pietro, are you all right?" Thor.

"Where are you?" Clint.

I blink at the concern in their voices and want to palm my forehead. I never made it to my final destination, and now there's a blizzard. "I'm all right," I breathe into my com, hoping they can hear me. The wind and snow really start to pick up as the girl steps closer to Red Snowsuit.

"Where are you?" Clint growls. "I can barely hear you."

"I think I need back up." The com crackles and I hear broken transmissions from Clint and Thor. Shit. I glance at my utility belt. There's a tracking device in there. If it's still working, the team can find me.

"This is your last chance to peacefully come with me," Red Snowsuit says. He extracts a long gun from a holster on a black belt at his waist.

A wall of snow flies at Red Snowsuit and the man fires his big gun. The blast is like red lightning. It devours the snow, but stops dead as more volleys of snow follow the first in rapid succession. I stare at the girl. She's starting to sweat, her features strained. She can't keep doing this. I steady myself and concentrate, watching the world slow as I speed up, rushing at Red Snowsuit for all I'm worth. I grab him around the waist in a tackle and bring him down. His big gun topples beside us.

The man yelps as I pin him to the ground. I look over my shoulder to see the girl on her knees, panting.

Okay. One bad guy down.

"Fool," Red Snowsuit says in a low voice. "You should have just come with me." His tone is regretful. My heart thuds in my chest as the shriek of a bomb comes from overheard and something crashes to the ground harder than Thor. The mountain quakes and a man wearing gray goggles and a silver, sleeveless jumpsuit rises from a crouch.

Another person dressed for Springtime. I'm starting to feel like a real pansy for needing layers to stay warm. Wonder if Red Snowsuit's feeling a little emasculated too. He struggles beneath me, strong as an ox. He throws me off after a beat, and I push myself up into a runner's starting position, ready to charge him again. He's not getting away

The girl screams and I jerk my head in her direction to see her throwing plumes of flames at the new man in silver.

What the hell is she?

Oh shit!

I jump out of the way as red lightning hurtles at my face. Seems Red Snowsuit's found his gun. I need to focus on him. The girl can probably handle—the sharp sounds of choking. I chance another look at the other fight to see the girl on the ground, clutching her throat, eyes large, face turning blue as Silver Suit closes in on her.

Of course he's got weird powers too.

I charge toward Silver Suit instead, tackling him the same way I'd done Red Snowsuit. Silver Suit cries out as we tumble to the ground. The girl's desperate gasps stop. More red lightning flashes over our heads as I struggle with Silver Suit… and choke as air literally gets snatched from my lungs. I can't even wheeze. Oh God.

I hit the snow, writhing at the pain in my chest from no air. It's like drowning. I'm suffocating, but how? Oh. God. I. Can't. Black spots scatter across my vision. A man yells and intense heat blows over my skin as a fireball blazes by.

Air gushes back into my lungs. I gasp and cough, sucking it in.

My ears ring and my pulse throbs.

I sit up, holding my head and staring at the chaos. The girl stands behind me, growing another fireball between her palms. Silver Suit staggers to his feet, torrents of swirling snow cycloning his biceps. Red Snowsuit's aiming his gun at the girl.

This is worse than Ultron. At least then I had known what was going on, and who and what I was fighting. I want to scream "Stop!" and have the world freeze so I can take it all in and make sense of things.

I blink.

I _can_ make it stop.

I focus, vertigo causing me to sway. My head pounds. I shut my eyes and feel the silence settle over my body. I open my eyes, staring at the frozen ice in the air, studying the girl with her hands outstretched, flames frozen on her fingertips. Red Snowsuit's mouth is open, revealing two rows of yellowing teeth. His brow beetles as he glares at the girl. Red lightning halts mid-crackle as it gathers around the mouth of the barrel of his gun.

I take his weapon. At this speed, I'm inhumanly strong. I could kill someone with an ill-placed jab of my finger. I have to be careful not to bump into anyone or step on any feet.

I remember the shooter at the Walmart Clint had taken me to months ago. I found out a week later that I'd broken his collarbone when I'd slammed into him. And his rifle. I still don't understand what had happened to that gun. I'd held it tight, my shakes vibrating with pent in energy, and then the gun was gone. Maybe I'd rattled it into pieces so small no one could see them. Maybe I'd banished it to a faster world that even I can't get to.

I stare at the gun I currently hold and try to do it again. I focus on my hands and will them to move, faster—faster—faster. My skin tingles. My fingers and palms go numb as they become blurs even to me—and this time I feel it. I feel the matter in my hands breaking down, changing, becoming insubstantial… until it's gone.

I laugh, staggering away from Red Snowsuit, and head towards the girl and Silver Suit.

Oh my God. Wait until I show Wanda and Clint.

Pain stabs me behind the eyes and something trickles from one nostril.

Oh no. I wipe at it, watching the red drip into the slushy snow, making it look like a cherry Icee—one of my new favorite things. Well, ex-favorite thing, since I'll always think of blood when I see one now. The stream keeps flowing. I throw back the hood of my jacket and roll my ski mask over my head, using it to plug my nose. I hold the fabric, tilting my head down. Willing the bleeding to stop.

I've got to slow down.

I push for it— _slow down_ —and feel nothing. Nothing's happening.

No. No. Not now. Not here. Not on my first mission.

I stare at my blood. Dizziness washing over me. A few steps away from reaching the girl and Silver Suit, I sink to my knees in cherry-stained ice. I don't feel the cold. I only hear the sound of my own panic as the bleeding doesn't slow.

Am I going to die again?

Can I really die from a nosebleed? That's stupid. Of course not. But the world grows dark: black and white.

I rock back and forth, waiting, bleeding… and then there's sound, faint, but growing louder. Cold starts to eat its way through my suit. The wind bites my exposed ears. Color: white, reddish blond and green. The girl's kneeling in front of me, her slender hands over mind as she helps me hold the blood soaked ski mask to my face.

The mask turns icy and I blink down at it to see frost covering its surface.

"It will slow the bleeding," the girl says. She runs a hand through my hair, face taut with worry—over me?

What happened to Silver Suit? I can't turn my head to look for him.

"Your powers are unstable," the girl says slowly, "like mine." She bites her lip. "But you are not a cousin. You cannot enter the Great Refuge."

A cousin? I stare at her, drinking in her pretty face, and am very glad I'm not a cousin. But what's a Great Refuge? My head swims and I sway.

A bellow behind us—sounds like Red Snowsuit. Probably missing his gun.

But where the hell's Silver Suit? I don't hear….

 _Thwump. Thwump_ —from overhead _._ I squint into the sky. Relief fills me at the sight of Mjolnir.

 _Crash_ —and I was wrong earlier. Silver Suit hadn't landed harder than Thor.

"Argh!" Silver Suit shriek is devoured by Thor's battle cry.

I hear the motor of a small oncoming vehicle over the fighting.

"Stay away!" the girl shouts. Heat pulses from her body and I hear flames erupt into the air.

"Pietro!" Clint.

I frown. He sounds pissed. I don't know what I look like with my head against the girl's shoulder, but from far away maybe it looks like I'm making out with a strange woman. If I could only be so lucky.

"Stay away!" the girl cries again and Clint yelps.

"Mmm…no. He's my friend," I murmur. My mouth doesn't want to move. My tongue is thick. I lick my lips clumsily, grimacing at the salty taste of blood.

"Let him go, lady!" Clint barks.

Clint has that especially cocky tone to his voice that says he has his bow out. I almost snort at how useless his dumb bow would be against this girl. She'd roast it, freeze it, or blow it away. The image of Clint's incredulous face as his weapon gets fried is hilarious… and heart-warming. If he's training his bow on this girl, it's because he's trying to protect me. Giddiness washes over me.

"Who are you? Who are those guys?" Clint demands. His voice is close.

The girl murmurs something. Clint growls.

Off in the distance, a clamor of grunts, strains, hissing wind and Thor's booming laughter tells me the battle's still going.

Hands grab my shoulders, pulling me back. I look up to see Clint's game face.

"Holy shit, brat." He stares at my bloody hands and clothes, then at the deep red stain in the snow. Something shines in his eyes; something I'd miss if I didn't know him better: fear.

Thor roars and wind howls. The mountain tremors under our feet.

Clint's mouth moves, but I can't hear him. Sound bleeds out of the world again, but everything still moves a normal pace. I just can't make sense of anything. The colors around me are too bright. My eyes hurt, my head pounds, and my teeth chatter; it's too cold. Hands grip me again, tugging me up. My legs are useless. I wobble and fall to my knees, more blood spattering the snow.

Small hands touch my face. The girl's bright green eyes swim in my vision.

"I think…" I choke; a thick warm clump of matter clogs my throat. I cough and gag as a blood clot the size of an Oreo hits the ground.

Sound flickers in and out. The girl's voice shrills. She says something else about a refuge and a locked jaw. Clint says something about getting out of here.

Rough hands. Arms under my shoulders and kneecaps. I no longer feel the icy press of snow beneath me. Wind chaps my face as one cheek rests against thick fabric. "…try to hold onto my neck, brat…" Clint's voice. "…pain in the ass…"

/Pi…tro?/

Wanda's thought crackles in my head.

I should answer her. She'll freak out if I don't. But….

Apathy sets in. I really thought I'd be scared. But I guess after you've died once, the second time around isn't really as bad. I just feel tired. And it's not fair. I didn't get to really do anything. Last time I died, I was a hero. This time, I'm the guy who went out before the big fight started.

"Pietro!" Clint yells. "Don't...sleep!"

The sky trembles. Or is Clint trembling? Is he carrying me? I hear him gasp. Feel myself falling. I hit the snow face first. Arms wrap around my waist. A deep rumble from above, like the Earth's breaking apart. A cold, heavy block of wetness strikes my ear.

"…avalanche…" Clint.

Another rumble. Arms pulling me up again. I topple sideways, landing on top of a body—Clint. "…getting you out of here. Just hang on… Shit!"

Clint shifts, letting my body roll onto the ground. He crawls over me, becoming a human shield as snow boulders rain down on us. Clint's arms are tight around me. He might be talking. I can't tell. Can't hear. Can't really see anymore.

But I want to smile. To tell him 'thank you,' because I don't know if I ever really have. I want him to know that I appreciate how good he was to me, to Wanda.

Wanda.

Through the avalanche, I hear screaming—the girl. She's above us, her voice growing fainter.

I.

Can't.

Th….

My body tingles, suddenly exposed to open air.

Rough coughing and a great sucking gasp—Clint.

"Hold on." The girl's soft whisper near in ear.

Heavy panting. It almost… it almost sounds like a dog.

Clint curses. I force my eyes open to glimpse splashes of color: white snow, red hair, enormous black eyes, brown fur.

Fur?

Air vanishes.

Scenery washes away; the colors blending until everything's white.

* * *

***Author's Note: So, what's the verdict? Like it? Hate it? Don't care either way? Well, anyway you liked it, please review. Oh, and if you're interested, don't forgot to check out my Author Profile page to learn more about my novel coming out this Fall! Thanks!***


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